


Three Chairs, Three Rings

by Sigtrygg (Vermillions)



Category: Norse Religion & Lore, Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, An AU where everything is lovely and fun, Crime Drama, Crime Procedural, Drama, F/M, Just kidding everything still sucks for everyone, Murder Mystery, Mystery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-07
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-04-13 12:50:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4522725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vermillions/pseuds/Sigtrygg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vigrid, Arkansas. Population 1,752. A sleepy little burg with a flare of Southern character. Over near the Publix, just off the main drag, there's a little brown sign stuck in the soft shoulder of the road. It reads "Vigrid: a crime free place to live." </p><p>Someone really ought to take that thing down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there, welcome to the show.
> 
> I have a boundless love for the Eddas and Norse mythology on the whole, but this will be my first piece of fic on the topic. Hope it goes well! Other fics on the subject will likely also be AUs, but most likely not modern, and definitely less.... long. :) I'll be trying to update weekly/every-other-week-ly on Thursdays, so keep an eye out! You can check out my other fics on non-Norse topics under my username, Vermillions. 
> 
> A note on names and Anglicization: My computer is very old. I had to add shortcuts for eth and thorn, and they only work on Microsoft Word. So I will be attempting to paste them in here through my brower's 'special characters' section, but if that proves to be too damn painful then I'll just anglicize everything. Sorry.
> 
> Please leave me a comment, let me know what you think. Or yell at me about typos, I'd hate to have one floating around. :) Without further ado–

###

****

**April 30th. 8:34 am. Iðavöll County Sheriff’s Department, Vigrid, Arkansas.**

From outside, the precinct looked quaint and fresh— whitewashed brick accentuated by olive trees and freshly paved blacktop. The air inside was as humid as without, but the atmosphere was almost dingy, all signs of quaintness gone. A room all done in tans and browns boasting desks with fake wooden paneling and identical rows of cheap black computer monitors. A water cooler here, a whiteboard there, a wall covered in pictures of officers commendations framed in a manner similar to little league team plaques. Fans hummed at full tilt, despite the early hour. Average morning.

A pair of muddy boots loped away from the water cooler, their owner carrying a black mug in his meaty hand. He took a sip as he walked. The water wasn’t nearly as cool as he would’ve liked, and the door he approached looked none too appealing. Outside the office door, a cute little blonde at a cute little desk smiled at him encouragingly. He tried not to let her see his deep intake of breath as he turned the doorknob and stepped inside. Sheriff’s deputy Gylfi Holm had been serving the county Idavoll for over twenty years. A middle-aged man, his straw-blonde hair was thinning and turning grey, and his pink face seemed almost like it was permanently sunburned. He shut the office door behind him and turned his large-brimmed hat in his hands. Standing there in his crisp brown uniform shirt and dusty old jeans, he always felt impossibly out of place.

“Gylfi,” the sheriff said to him, “any developments?”

The sheriff had his feet, adorned in clean black cowboy boots, propped up on his desk. His beige and brown uniform was immaculate, his silver badge shining from the left lapel like a lighthouse beacon. 

“Nothing new,” said Gylfi. “Just about twenty eight more mothers calling in to ask if we’ve got a pedo out there, and if they should keep their kids home from school.”

The sheriff frowned and took his feet off the desk. Gylfi watched him with eyes like a tired old vulture’s. It was no great secret that Gylfi Holm wanted the sheriff’s seat. By rights, Gylfi thought, it should have been his. But he was no good at politics, at debates. All the public appearances. Scyld Scefing was.

Scyld blew into the sleepy town of Vigrid, Arkansas five years previously, driving a rugged yellow pickup and dragging a fishing boat behind him. Fresh and young, his keen blue eyes never missed a thing. He worked hard, made friends in all the right places, and shot like a bullet straight to the top of the ranks. Gylfi spent a lot of time after Scyld’s election wondering what Scyld Scefing had that he didn’t. But that was clear to see. Gylfi stood there in his superior’s office, gazing at the wall behind the man’s desk as the sheriff poured out two cups of watery coffee. 

Scyld’s desktop background was a picture of him holding up a prize pig at the county fair. His wall was peppered with impressive framed photos: Scyld cutting the ribbon for a new library, a new children’s center, and last year’s brand new county water park. Scyld in an apron and hairnet volunteering at the homeless shelter, Scyld shaking hands with the mayor, Scyld shaking hands with the previous Sheriff; Scyld shaking hands with senator Sigurd. Here was a photo of him with his beautiful supermodel wife, and here another with three children in wheelchairs at the county hospital children’s ward. Scyld eating ribs. Scyld shucking corn. Scyld picking fucking cotton. Gylfi resented the man’s raw amicability. He felt that he, Gylfi, had none.

“Sit,” said Scefing. Gylfi sat.

The sheriff tented his hands and said, “I’m sure I don’t have to tell you how important it is that we get this situation in hand, and resolved, as quickly as possible.”

Gylfi shook his head. “It’s top priority for the entire station, sir.”

Scyld nodded, sitting back in his leather chair and scratching his chin with one thumb, hands still folded.

“Gylfi, I know you’re looking to retire soon-“

 _‘Actually’_ , thought Gylfi, _‘I’d rather take your job, pretty boy…’_

“But you’re the best man I’ve got. You know that.”

Gylfi did.

“So what are you thinking?” asked the sheriff, “What do you have so far?”

Gylfi shifted in his chair and put his mug down on the cherry wood desk. He didn’t reach for a coaster. “We got the call at approximately 5:03 this morning– 911 operator patched it through to our nighttime phone tree. It hit Sinfiotli’s house first, but him and his wife are out of town, so it bounced to poor Oddrun next. She’d wanted to stay on the list and keep helping out, despite… Gunnar, and everything. The call gave her a real shock, but she followed protocol, took all of it down, and rang me.”

“And you rang me immediately after?”

“Yes, sir.”

Scyld seemed to think for a moment. “And you don’t feel you have anyone who sticks out?”

Gylfi blinked heavily. “Sir, you saw that bunch back there. A mess. I got three in the tank for assaulting officers, and one for drunk and disorderly.”

“And you took them all to court in Little Rock?”

“Yes, sir. They all pled. And their bails are set. Frodi called their… people… about it an hour ago.”

Scyld had assumed his famous “face” by now. Gylfi called it his “pointer-dog face” behind the sheriff’s back. Scyld’s eyes had narrowed to electric blue slits and his entire body was stiff as a board, the veins in his arms sticking out. On the scent.

“They’re keen, though, aren’t they?” he said, “None of them threw punches. I got some spit on my shoes, that was the extent of their formal assaults. I think they wanted to put on a show. To let us know they’re… not intimidated.”

Gylfi chuckled. “A great strategy, to be sure. Doesn’t make the whole lot look suspicious at all.”

“Indeed,” said Scyld with a smile. “Nothing says ‘we have a lot to hide’ quite like threatening police officers.”

“That’s not all of it. I think, sir, that it’s a real… strict group policy o’ theirs. Generally. No police. And I think that the woman was pressured into not calling 911.”

“Do you have any evidence to confirm she was denied access to a phone? Beyond the basic details I couldn’t get much out of her myself, she was too hysterical.”

“No sir, I haven’t spoken to her since you did. But listening to the recording, there’s a very abrupt end to the call. The operator says ‘where are you?’ and when the woman says ‘859 Bifröst highway’, you can hear her voice go up, and there are several muffled footsteps before that. I think someone wrenched the phone from her hand. I think they may have tried to keep her from reporting it.”

Scyld smiled thinly. “If you’re right, then it only makes them look all the more suspicious.”

“Maybe,” offered Gylfi, “they’re trying to cover up some illegal activity. Smuggling– a drug ring, perhaps.”

The sheriff shook his head. “No. I think it’s more of a twisted group-think kind of thing. Folk like these— historically speaking— tend to operate on an almost cult-like level. Like there’s nothing outside their… trailer-trash compound. 

They protect their own. And I’m worried that may extend to protecting their own even when they harm others within the group.”

He was quiet for a moment. So was Gylfi. The computer on the desk made a gentle ringing sound, and Scyld turned to check on it. Then he said, “Four in the hold?”

“Yeah,” said Gylfi.

“Not for long. Their bails’ve been posted.”

Gylfi shook his head and spun his hat in his hands. “Family and friends group package?” 

Scyld nodded and threw his hands up. “Go grill them before they walk,” he said.

Gylfi stood and grabbed his mug, turning for the door.

“And take Frodi with you!” said the Sheriff. Gylfi grimaced and closed the door behind him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's go see who's sitting in the drunk tank....

###

**8:58 am, Idavöll County Sheriff’s Department.**

Gylfi shut the door to the sheriff’s office and looked out across the department floor with some small disdain. His eyes landed on a pale, rosy-cheeked man of thirty-six, who was busy preening in his computer’s webcam.

“Frodi!” he called. The man looked up, comb still stuck in his slicked-back hair. 

“Let’s go,” said Gylfi. Deputy Frodi jumped up to follow him down the hall.

“What’s shaking, hoss?” said the younger man as he caught up. 

“Fuck you, jackass,” replied his senior, taking a sip from his coffee mug.

“So. Drunk tank?”

“Mmhm. Someone just posted all their lovely little bails.”

“Awww,” said Frodi. “I assume we’re gonna press ‘em before they waltz?”

“Hopefully,” said Gylfi as they rounded the corner. 

The beige bars of the two holding cells blended in perfectly with the matching cinderblock walls they were attached to. The consistent paint job made the prisoners inside look almost like human glitches on a clean computer grid. One cell housed three big, burly looking men and a homeless man asleep on the cot. The other housed a graying woman of around sixty-five wearing tattered jeans and a low-cut tank top. The deputies approached the first cell.

“Well, now that you gentlemen have had some time to think, unobstructed, perhaps you have a bit more to tell me and my partner here?” said Gylfi.

Nothing. The individuals in question didn’t so much as spit on the ground or raise a middle finger to deputy Gylfi. They just stood, quietly. As the deputies stared back, a small, round officer in an ill-fitting shirt turned the corner carrying a ring of keys.

“Aw, come on, man, do we really need to be so punctual here?” groaned Frodi.

The officer stopped and looked to Gylfi. Gylfi, begrudgingly, nodded and the man went forward to unlock the first cell.

“Gentleman, ma’am. You’re bails have been posted. You’re free to go.” Gylfi said.

The three men walked silently out as Frodi shook his head. When the door of the second cell came squealing open, the occupant didn’t move. 

“Ma’am,” said Frodi. The woman didn’t budge, head down.

“Miss Frigg,” said Gylfi. 

The woman grunted and squinted up at the men in front of her.

“Oh, is it time to go, then?”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Gylfi, “your husband has paid your bail.”

She nodded and patted the cot appreciatively. A cloud of dust rolled up from the cot springs.

“Maybe you could chat with us for a minute, before you go,” said Frodi. “Deputy Gylfi brought you some coffee.”

Gylfi looked back at Frodi with a glare. It was his own mug. He didn’t like sharing his mug.

“I thought I made it pretty clear, little boy, that I’m not talking to you. But maybe I ought to drag you round by your hair again, just to prove it,” said the woman.

Frodi looked a little wan at the mention of the previous night’s events, but he stood tall. “I don’t think you’ll be as quick or as strong without the alcohol, ma’am. Not as hungover as you must be, least ways,” said Frodi, making mock gestures of drooping eye-bags with a clownish frown on his face.

The woman chuckled gruffly and reached out her hand. It took them a moment to realize that she was waiting for the coffee mug to be placed in her palm. Gylfi handed it over testily and the woman took a large sip, staring them both down. Then she stood and grabbed the leather jacket sitting next to her on the cot. “Right. Thanks for the hospitality, boys. Let’s not do this again,” she said, attempting to push past them.

“We’ll have to, if you don’t give me a good reason why I shouldn’t hold you here on kidnapping charges,” said Gylfi.

Frigg stopped, but did not look up.

“Why didn’t you call 911? You were there. You were the one who let it happen,” said Frodi.

“I didn’t ‘let’ anything happen!” Frigg snapped, eyes darting up to meet Frodi's.

“You were with them. You were in charge. And yet you didn’t notice. Someone took those boys right out from under your nose. And you grabbed the phone after their mother called us, didn’t you? Hung up the call. Maybe you wanted all of this to happen,” said Gylfi.

“You shut your mouth,” Frigg spat, shoving past the pair and tearing off down the hallway.

“I thought you were all a big family. Isn’t that right?” said Gylfi, following her briskly, “And you’re the matriarch. So all the kids, they’re like your lil’ grandbabies. And you didn’t want the police to help… why? So you could willingly endanger those boys? Your so-called family?”

“You don’t know _jackshit_ ,” she said venomously, facing them again but maintaining a good distance.

“Then explain it to me, Frigg. Tell me why you didn’t want to call. Help me here, so I can help you. And help them,” said Gylfi. Frigg said nothing.

“Ma’am,” said Gylfi, “I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that most children in kidnapping cases who aren’t taken by a family member have pretty poor odds of survival after twenty four hours is up.”  
Frigg looked as though she was in physical pain. Gylfi watched her from across the hall with a hard gaze.

“Do you know who took Nari and Váli Lokason?”

She turned, looking baleful. “No. I wish I did. If I knew who did it, I swear I’d….” 

Frigg rubbed her nose and gritted her yellowing teeth. Then slowly she walked back towards the deputies. She looked hollow, her clean leather jacket no match for her muddy workboots and ripped junior’s jeans. She took a few slow steps and leaned against the wall, taking a sip from her purloined coffee mug.

“We don’t call the cops. That’s just how it is. The Æsir are a family. We’re on the road too much to depend on this local system or that one, or the feds. The law of the road is the way.” She took another swallow of coffee and adjusted the moonstone pendant around her neck.

“But she was right. Sigyn was right to call. If it had been my kids…. I would’ve done the same. But I panicked, it’s just… it’s not the way. That’s why I grabbed the phone. But the call got through anyway, thank goodness.”

“And you were with them all day, before that?” asked Frodi.

Frigg looked at him with utter contempt. Frodi shifted from leg to leg, not wanting to get attacked again.

“I was with them in the afternoon, yeah. Fed ‘em dinner, put ‘em to bed. Stayed with ‘em until their mom got back.”

“And where was she?”

“Shopping with Gefion, I think, and Nanna. They drew the lot for errands this week. So they were going round to the feed stores, the RV place off the interstate, and the Home Depot and all that. And when that was done they had to go grocery shopping too.”

“And she didn’t get in ‘til late?” asked Frodi.

“No,” said Frigg.

“How late?” asked Gylfi.

“About eleven I’d say, maybe. I was asleep on the couch, but I remember the screen door waking me up. And then it was the windows. I don’t know how late it was, I got up to pee at around 2:30. Then after I got back in bed I heard some of the windows being opened. I figured she just wanted some air, the A/C was broken. Loki was meant to come and fix it a couple days ago, but….”

Frigg paused and put a hand to her chest, breathing heavily. “The windows. That’s how they must’ve….” 

“Yes,” said Frodi, “we’ve determined that the windows were the point of entry.”

“Now, Ma’am,” said Gylfi, hands on his hips, “We saw last night that you’re a pretty strong woman, especially when you’ve got some alcohol in you. You threw my partner here clear down on his face. Seems like you’d be strong enough to pull a small child-”

“No!” Frigg interjected, clutching the mug with angry, work-worn hands. “I would never.”

“And the mother? Could she have pulled that off, do you think?”

“Sigyn?” said Frigg. She shook her head, shutting her eyes a moment. “Sigyn… she could never harm her boys. She… you didn’t see. I was _there_. I heard her scream when she saw they were gone. She just… shrieked, and she wouldn’t stop. That isn’t a kind of terror that you can fake.”

“Did you see that it was Sigyn who came in through the front door at around eleven? Or did you just assume?” asked Gylfi steadily.

“No, I didn’t see.” Frigg snapped, “but maybe if you did your investigations in the daytime, instead of coming around and harassing everyone in the camp before the sun’s even up, you might’ve seen that there’s a camera on the front of Sigyn’s trailer. One of those little round sphere ones. It goes to her laptop. You’d be able to see exactly who’s been through that door in the last thirty days.”

Gylfi turned to Frodi and was about to tell him to get a hold of that camera, when Frigg said “you’re not looking at the right people.”

“Oh?” said Gylfi, “who should we be looking at, the husband?”

“He’s a worthless cunt, but no. The Jötnar did this, it’s plain as day.”

“The Jötnar?” asked Frodi, “Sounds kind of convenient– I heard you folks don’t get along very well.”

“They did this,” said Frigg, eyes dark, “I’m sure of it. They’ve hated us for longer than I’ve been alive to witness. They want to hurt us deep and watch us fall apart. They’re perfectly capable of something this awful. Especially Skrymnir.”

“But your friend Sigyn isn’t?” said Gylfi.

“No. She isn’t.” Frigg said evenly. “I told you. Sigyn could never hurt her children.”

“You sound pretty sure.” Said Gylfi.

Frigg looked at him blankly. “Sigyn was staying with me, shortly after she became pregnant with Váli–”

“Váli’s the oldest,” Frodi confirmed.

Frigg nodded. “We were at the farm. It’s where a bunch of us go in the off-season. A big ranch, out in Montana. Sigyn hadn’t realized she was pregnant when she moved on out to the farm, and she was beside herself when she found out.”  
_\---_  
“I suppose there’s always Álfheim, honey.”

Frigg sat in her rocker and looked at Sigyn over the top of her loom. She pushed the beater board forward and pulled it back, waiting for Sigyn to speak, but the woman said nothing. She sat in the window seat, knees tucked up towards her chest in a long skirt, and sipped on a cup of decaf iced tea. Sigyn hadn’t spoken to her on-again-off-again boyfriend since the season ended, and had gone away to the farm immediately after she found him in the arms of a truckstop waitress– in Sigyn’s own trailer. That was before she knew she was with child. But Sigyn never told him about the baby, and she didn’t intend to. She looked out the window and squinted at two pines on the horizon, bending in the breeze.

“I wish you’d stay on with us.” Frigg was saying, “But if you feel you really need to go… I know Álfheim would take you back, you’re too good for them not to miss your act. I could call-“

“No,” said Sigyn, standing. “No, I… the Æsir are my family now. But I don’t know if I can…” she put a hand on her swelling stomach. 

“I can get that wretch to pay child support, I’ve got plenty of threats up my sleeve” said Frigg, putting down her weaving. She watched Sigyn with tired eyes.

“You know what I think this is? You’re not upset about this baby. You’re upset because you miss that shitpit. But you did right, leaving him. You really did.”

Sigyn was very quiet. In the dim afternoon light, she looked older to Frigg, worn down. 

“I don’t know…” she whispered.

“I _do_ know!” Frigg yelled, slamming her shuttle down. “He’s trash!”

Sigyn nodded, but hurried away towards the stairs. 

“Don’t you ne’er think of taking him back, he’ll just run off on you again! Sigyn! Hear me, girl?!”

But Sigyn was already down the stairs and onto the long wrap-around porch. “Don’t be me,” Frigg said softly. Then she went back to her weaving.

Not two nights later Loki showed up at the farm. Sigyn was at her window seat, all the girls were there in the parlor too, having a nightcap and watching late night talk shows. Loki stood beneath the window and called up to her. Sigyn closed the window, but they could still hear him howling.

“Sigyn! I know you’re in there, I saw you! Sigyn!”

She walked away from the parlor and stood in the hall, arms folded across her chest. 

“Don’t listen,” said Frigg from her rocking chair, “don’t listen to him.”

And Sigyn tried. But he kept throwing pebbles and apologizing to her over and over again. Gefion leaned out the window and told him several choice and thorny plants that he could go and promptly fuck, but Loki kept on yelling and yelling and yelling. That he missed Sigyn, that he loved her, that he wished he’d never been so arrogant and so selfish. Again and again he said he was sorry. He begged her to take him back until his voice began to go hoarse.

Sigyn listened to him out there. She listened, and she thought, and her face burned pink in her concentration. She held tightly to her rounded stomach with two pale hands. Then she went downstairs.

Frigg and the girls watched her go. She let the screen door slam shut behind her and stood there facing the drunken man, whose eyes slowly pulled away from the upstairs window and landed on her. Loki took one surprised look at her pregnant belly and started to cry. He walked over to her, slowly, dropping down on his knees and pressing his face into her stomach. Sigyn looked ahead, face blank. It took a moment for her to haltingly embrace him, to hold his head as he sobbed into her chest, and Frigg— lighting a menthol cigarette— cursed under her breath. She shut her eyes and wrinkled her nose.

“She’ll regret it,” one of the girls said. 

“I’m sure,” said Frigg. “I’m sure she will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Chapter three will be up on Thursday (or earlier, if I'm feeling generous ;P). Leave any comments/critiques, if you'd like.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A visit with a possible suspect, and some recent bad blood re-hashed...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's Thursday, so here's another chapter. :) Thanks much to [Suzelle](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Suzelle/pseuds/Suzelle) who's beta-ed all this for me. You rock, bruh. Some small obnoxious news: chrome officially doesn't like my home-made word shortcuts for 'eth' (ð), and so when I paste in my work all the little eths show up as big empty windows. Womp womp. So I may run out of patience with the copy and paste routine and anglicize everything at some point. Because this is a little exhausting to do over and over.
> 
> If you'd like to leave one, comments are super appreciated, and please do let me know if you see any typos. :)

###

**11:15 am. 769 Ifing Highway. Jötnar camp.**

With nothing much else to go on, the deputies found themselves standing outside of a large and glimmering RV. Frodi gave the door a sharp rap. When no one answered, he gave it a couple good poundings. A voice from inside murmured “I’m coming,” and the sound of clattering plates could be heard.

Frodi looked over his shoulder at the crowd of tall, hardy-looking folk surrounding them. Gylfi, on the other hand, tried to ignore the small crowd as best he could.

When the bus door finally opened, it revealed a tall man who was in his late sixties, but not yet grey at his temples. He was so tall that he was nearly doubled over standing there in the doorframe, looking for all the world like some strange animal in a shrunken circus cage. He smiled with a set of perfectly white teeth.

“Why hello, deputies. I suppose you’ve come about our… friends, and those two little boys.”

“And just how did you get wind of that?” Gylfi asked, hands planted firmly on either side of his belt buckle.

The man shrugged with an almost mocking frown, and reached out a long, wiry arm to snap his fingers at a young man in the crowd. The youth produced a piece of eight-by-eleven paper and handed it up to the man on the bus, the edges of the paper whipping about in the breeze. The tall man examined it for a brief moment, then handed it to Gylfi. 

The top of the sheet read, in bold red letters, “MISSING: HAVE YOU SEEN THESE CHILDREN?” Printed below were the names Nari and Váli Lokason, information on the clothes they were wearing at the time of their abduction, and a number to call. Below the information was the same picture the mother had given to the Sheriff’s department: a little boy and his baby brother sitting on a picnic blanket in the shade. Gylfi looked up again at the man in the door and handed the flier to Frodi.

“Mr. Skrymnir. May we speak with you?”

“Of course,” said Skrymnir. He made no move to go inside his bus, or come down the steps.

“In private, please,” said Gylfi.

Skrymnir threw his hands up and made a face, as though he couldn’t possibly have discerned their plan. The crowd of people laughed as Skrymnir beckoned the deputies up the steps with an elaborate wave of his arm.  
“You’ll have to excuse the state of my kitchen, gentlemen,” said Skrymnir as they headed through the door. “I just ate lunch and the place is a bit messy.”

He moved several dirty plates into the sink while the deputies looked around the enormous, swank RV.

“What do you call an RV when it’s a bus, anyway?” Frodi asked pleasantly.

“A land yacht,” said Skrymnir with a grin, sitting down at his table. “Oh, gentlemen, where are my manners? If you require a snack of some sort, that cupboard right there has some delicious cracker varieties on the shelves.”

Frodi obligingly went to open the cabinet, but it wouldn’t budge. He tried again, and still nothing. He looked back at Skrymnir who shrugged mildly. 

Frodi took a seat, pissy. Skrymnir got up and opened the cabinet easily with just three fingers.

“Oh, Deputy Frodi, I guess you didn’t want any.”  
Frodi shrugged. “Watching my carbs,” he said, glaring at Skrymnir’s back.

“You’re a strong man, Skrymnir,” Gylfi said as Skrymnir reseated himself. He examined the tall man’s thick arms; “That’s your game, isn’t it?”

“No game,” said Skrymnir, taking a bite out of a sesame cracker. “It’s skill.”

“I suppose you could rather easily use those skills to, say, jimmy open a trailer window from the outside.” Frodi said.

“I could,” Skrymnir nodded. “But I think doors are a very handy invention.”

“Where were you last night between 2:15 and 2:50 in the morning?” asked Gylfi coolly.

“Here in my home. Sleeping. My wife got up to get a glass of water at some point, she knows I was here all night. Besides,” Skrymnir said, lifting the blinds on one of the windows at the end of the table, “you see that dirt lot over there? Those are all of my people’s cars. All of them. And Hrungnir keeps a sharp eye on who goes in and out through our little temporary gate, you see.” He pointed to a metal gate, the kind you’d find on a pasture or corral, that led to the large lot fenced in black mesh.

“It’s the only way in or out. You can go ask him yourself if he saw me, or anyone, leave in the middle of the night, and I can guarantee you that he did not.”

“And you’re sure of that?” said Frodi. Skrymnir nodded.

“If anyone’s left in the night, to do anything at all, Hrungnir is supposed to come to me. But he’s been asleep all morning, not a peep since we sat down to breakfast. Tuckered out.”

Skrymnir rose and walked towards the back of the RV, reaching into a small built-in desk and pulling out a large roll of paper bound up with a blue rubber band. He handed it to Gylfi.

“This is my whole crew. The entire year’s docket of workers and helpers too, ‘cross every state. I thought you might want the list, as I’m sure you intend to question everyone, don’t you?”

“Maybe,” said Gylfi. “According to just about everyone here in your… crew, and with the Æsir; your two groups don’t get along at all. You’re rivals. Bitter ones, eh?”

Skrymnir sat and rolled a pencil across the table. “That’s the way it’s always been, long ‘fore me and Odin’s time.”

“And why exactly is that?” asked Frodi.

Skrymnir sat back in his chair and looked up at the pasty white ceiling of his land yacht. “The Jötnar and the Æsir used to be one family, one crew. We travelled together, shared different parts of the show. But that rat bastard Bor, he accused our founder Ymir of stealing five grand from his safe. And he never could prove it, because Ymir never did it.”

The deputies sat quietly.

“And that was it?” said Frodi at length.

“That was the spark that started the fire, yes.”

“… Seriously?” Frodi was exasperated.

“Honor is essential to the Jötnar,” said Skrymnir calmly. “I suppose it would be essential to the Æsir as well, if they ever had any to begin with.”

At this, he spat on the floor by his shoe. Frodi stared, mouth hanging open. 

“And here I thought someone might’ve done something serious, like run off with a guy’s wife,” said Frodi.

“Or kidnap two babies,” said Gylfi.

“That would do it,” Frodi said, nicking a cracker from Skrymnir’s plate.

“The Æsir are constantly taking our women. Always they hunt for brides among the Ívidjur, convincing them that their family is better than ours.”

“Convincing grown women to leave home is a different matter entirely from kidnapping, I’d say,” said Frodi.

“None of my people took those boys,” said Skrymnir, “I asked them all myself.”

“So you weren’t the least bit suspicious, then,” said Gylfi, standing, “and that’s _not_ why you spoke to your whole ensemble. Got ‘em to get all their stories straight before we came a-knockin’?”

Skrymnir looked up at Gylfi and batted his eyes. “That’s not at all what my intentions were. I gathered everyone out there, right in front of my home,” he said, patting the side of the RV, “and I asked them what all they knew. To be straight with me, because I knew those Æsir trash would come put the blame on us before the cock even crowed.”

Skrymnir took a sip of water from the mug to his left. “Looks like I was right.”

Frodi opened his mouth to speak, but Skrymnir spoke first. “All of ‘em were pointing fingers at us, weren’t they, but it was Frigg who told you to come lookin’ at me, wasn’t it?”

Gylfi adjusted his belt. “Now why do you think it’d be her to accuse you?”

Skrymnir chuckled, a silver tooth apparent on the left side of his mouth when he smiled.

“Frigg blames me for the… continued animosity between our families. For a while, when we were all a little younger, Frigg wanted us to patch up the divide and bring the families back together. It was the fool idea of a dumb blonde. She had such hope. But our wounds? They were too old.”

“The ‘money that may-or-may-not have been stolen’ wounds? Those wounds?” said Frodi.

“Yes,” said Skrymnir with a small glare. He picked up another cracker. “Some people were… really on board with the idea of a merger. I wasn’t going to let it happen, though. So, after Odin got back from a week’s supply run to their farmstead, I told him Frigg had been fucking his brothers, Vili and Vé. Told him I let her use one of our semi cabs to do ‘em in.” He snapped the cracker in half with his teeth and chewed it thoughtfully. 

“You won’t have met them,” he said, “Odin kicked them out after that. Nearly divorced Frigg. And we all stayed nice and separate.”

“Was it even true?” asked Frodi.

Skrymnir shrugged. “So you can see why Frigg might be a little… biased against me.”

“Y’all do seem to hold some excellent grudges,” said Frodi, narrowing his eyes with a bitter smile. Skrymnir politely raised his mug to the deputy and took another drink of water.

“Officers,” he said, “this is all very clearly a ruse to distract you and waste your time. Those guttersnipes would be delighted to see one of us on trial. They’d wear their Sunday best to the courtroom and throw a tailgate in the county parking lot.

“Odin planned this, and his lackeys pulled it off. To Frigg’s credit, I don’t think this is quite her style- my guess is she isn’t in on the plan. But it’s a well-conceived one. Put us under the law’s microscope and get back at Loki, all at the same time. Two birds with one stone! The Æsir would love to see us squirm, and I can’t think of a single person who wouldn’t want to see the same for Loki.”

“No one? You’re telling me literally everyone wishes this guy ill?” said Frodi.

Skrymnir looked at Frodi. “And you will too, if you ever get your hands on him. Loki is like a human form of cancer. He feeds on people. Wastes them away. Loki burned up a good chunk of Odin’s money on drink and fun- if he’s not sleeping with their wives he’s stealing their acts or joy-riding in their cars. The Æsir did this to get back at him. I know it. And soon enough, those boys will turn up right on their momma’s doorstep, safe and sound, because it was the Æsir who took ‘em.”

The deputies left Skrymnir, feeling unsatisfied. Gylfi scanned the dry grounds as they walked back to their car, eyeing the folks they passed with diligent scrutiny.

“Wouldn’t be the first time someone kidnapped their own kids,” said Gylfi, unlocking the car with his clicker.

“Yeah, but it doesn’t fit here,” said Frodi.

“Oh no?”

“No.” said Frodi. “Why do people take kids if only to bring them back? Usually to spite a spouse or the guardian in charge- to try and take custody of the kids. They say this dad of theirs is a deadbeat, but he pays child support. This doesn’t seem like a money thing, or a custody thing, or even an insurance thing. So why fake a kidnapping if you get nothing out of it?”

“They’d get the Jötnar under surveillance as obvious suspects,” said Gylfi, looking back at Skrymnir, standing in his door, “which these folks here stand by. And clearly the Æsir were pointing that finger when we spoke to them last night. And Frigg, this morning.”

“It would make sense” said Frodi, “But it’s not possible.”

Gylfi stopped to look at him. 

“Not unless they hired someone else,” said Frodi, adjusting his sunglasses and gesturing with the roll of paper Skrymnir had given him. “I mean, look at these people, Gylfi. They’re… _giants_. I’ve got their specs on this list of Skrymnir’s, and not a one of ‘em is under six feet, not even the women. No one that size could’ve squeezed in a tiny trailer window and grabbed two kids.”

Gylfi’s phone rang. He pulled it from his belt holster and opened the car door as Frodi went around to the passenger side.

“Gylfi, Sheriff’s department,” he answered. He paused for a moment there, his left arm on the car door. Then he dropped into the seat and snapped vigorously at Frodi, mouthing “pen and shit”. Frodi wrenched open the glove compartment and pulled out a ticket pad, handing it to Gylfi, who wrote in agitated, quick jots.

“Slow down,” he said to whoever was on the other line, “slow down and say it again.” Then he went back to writing. Frodi waited until Gylfi had hung up to stare pointedly at him and say “And that was…?”

“Frigg. She said….” Gylfi ripped his aviators off his face and pinched the bridge of his nose. He picked up the ticket pad and looked at it blankly. 

“She said she had…. ‘foreseen’ that Váli and Nari would come home soon. And that before they came home, they’d spend time in a wet place. And they would feel that the world was tilted.”

They were both silent for a moment. “That’s… what she said to you?” asked Frodi incredulously. Gylfi nodded, massaging his forehead.

“And how exactly did she ‘foresee’ this shit, huh? Did she see it in her crystal ball?” quipped Frodi, throwing his hands in the air.

“No, she said she drew the information from the runes that she shaved off into a cup of mead.”

“Are you fucking k-!” Frodi stopped and ran a hand through his hair, agitated.

“We’ve got nothing. Or too much! Crazy trailer trash, diviner witches, an alternate group of really threatening-looking trailer trash— who even is our prime suspect? Skrymnir here? Odin? The missing father?!”

Gylfi shook his head and tipped his hat over his knee.

“When did they last see the father, anyway?” asked Frodi.

“Last week,” said Gylfi, “at a kegger.”

**\---**

The music was loud, some kind of raunchy country bump-and-grind. It thumped out over the low hills as he walked, and he could feel it in the heels of his boots. The warm champagne light glanced down from the assembled trailers and the strings of twinkling white lights strung overhead. He could see everyone dancing and drinking over there at the top of the hill and his eyes watched like a snake’s, dark and still as the light flickered across them like fire over water. He took a swig from his brown-bagged bottle of Jäger and wobbled towards the party, the four cans of PBR in his left hand bouncing against his leg in their plastic loops.

“Aw, great,” said someone as he approached. He couldn’t see who it was. Blurry faces glowered at him from all sides as he parted the ranks and stumbled towards the long picnic table at the center of the circle. Odin’s one eye watched him with clear disdain and an unbearable amount of pity. The skin on the back of his neck burned at receiving such a look.

“Loki,” said Odin. “Clear out.” He said nothing more.

In a camp chair at his side, Frigg glared at Loki from a haughty and disapproving face. The Æsir were all quiet. Then Loki laughed. It rippled through him like a river of sludge and he lifted his arms to shrug, still laughing; the cans of beer on his wrist clanking like buoy weights. The crowd began to murmur.

“You said we were like brothers, Odin. What’sss… changed your mind?”

“You have, Loki. Once, perhaps, we were brothers. Now we are not. Now all that you seem to be is a drunken oaf. Now get going!”

But Loki would not be moved. He smiled and laughed and wove about in place, his insides roiling with resentment.

“You let the likes of Njord sit and drink, such a good ol’ boy. You let him drink his fill and you call him friend, when you know as well as I he calls his sister ‘baaabyyy’ when he fucks her through the night, and thinks no one can hear him!”

Njord flew from his chair, a big man with red skin and long black hair in a braid. “You spew your venom somewhere else, you lying wretch!” he yelled, as Loki weaved and laughed. 

“It’s ok, Njord,” said Loki, between giggles, “we know you’ve passed the tradition on to your children.”

The crowd howled and booed. Several empty cans were thrown at Loki, one striking him in the temple. He reeled, but managed to stay standing.

“Who threw that, Freyr or Freyja? Defending your dearest dad, is it? I’m not sure which of the twincest twinks has the girliest throw!”

At this, Freyr hurled himself at Loki, but Baldr held him back.

“Be calm, Freyr! Come on! Don’t let this assclown get to you!”

Freyr, a handsome tow-headed man, grunted and threw off Baldr’s arms, spitting in Loki’s face and pushing through the crowd and away from the scene. Loki slowly wiped his face with the hem of his ragged tee shirt.

“Leave off, Loki,” said Baldr, straw clinging to his grey tank top. “You’re wasted. Go sleep it off, and stop making enemies of those who took you in.”

Loki’s sloppy eyes trained on Baldr, and his whole wiry countenance seemed to quiver. He cracked his neck. 

“Baldr, Baldr, Baldr…. Everyone’s favorite guy. You act as if the Æsir offered me charity. Me, Loki! You needed my act, you were all worthless without me!” Loki boasted, foam at the corners of his freckled, torn mouth.

Someone threw a bottle this time. It missed. 

“Fuck off Loki, I mean it! Go on!” said Baldr, stomping forward. Loki backed away from the bigger man quickly and nearly fell over. 

“Do you want to fight, Baldr? Do you?” Loki spat, hurling his bottle of Jäger behind him and shattering it on the table. “Come on then! Give me the chance to claw up that pretty-boy face!”

“No one wants to fight a worthless coward like you! Least of all Baldr: he’d kick your ass so fast, it’d be boring to watch,” said Skadi from somewhere to their right. 

Loki leered at her with such giddy malice that even Skadi was unnerved.

“Your father said he’d fight me, Skadi, Thjazi– the ugly old goat. Thought he could handle me. But he misjudged me, precious princess, and I was his death!”

Skadi was very still. “I’ve had enough of your poisonous bullshit.”

“Tell her, Odin!” said Loki, wheeling to face the man in his chair. “Tell her, tell her! You were there, you saw!”

Odin said nothing and did not look at Skadi. Skadi began to blanch. 

“You’re a liar,” she said quietly, “you’ve always been a fucking liar...”

“A liar, yes, but I mean my boasts! And I was the last thing ol’ Thjazi ever saw in this life!” He let out an eerie howl of drunken laughter, his head thrown back and his eyes shut.

“Did you know that, Skadi,” he said, bouncing on his heels like an excited child, “did you know that I was the one who killed your father? Did you know that when you were fucking me? Did you think of him dying when you called my name?!”

Skadi lunged for Loki’s neck and the crowd exploded. Someone reached to hold Loki up for Skadi to beat as Baldr grasped at Skadi and tried to hold her back. Skadi knocked Loki down. Someone kicked him in the jaw. A string of twinkling lights came down in a shower of sparks. It was chaos.

Then a gun went off.

The crowd lurched back like a dark wave, everyone checking their bodies for wounds. Loki looked at the muddy straw beneath him, concerned that the mud might actually be blood– blood leaking from a wound far worse than the cut on his mouth. It took him a moment to register a distant figure at the top of the hill, holding a hunting rifle. Everyone’s eyes were trained on her.

Her face was gaunt and her hands were shaking, the rifle rattling in her grip. She looked grim, like some bride of death.

Loki struggled to stand. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as the woman looked right through him with cold, dead eyes.

“Sigyn,” he said.

She shook her head. “Enough, Loki.” There were tears in her eyes.

“Sigyn, baby, I-“

“ENOUGH!” she screamed, tears rolling down her pale cheeks.

“Just go. Please.” She was resolute. “Just leave.”

Loki stood for a moment looking up at her. Like she was some moon goddess and he was a mongrel in the dirt. Then he dropped his pack of PBR and wandered off down the hill.

As he went, Baldr let go of Skadi and she ran after Loki, yelling “you’re dead, you fucking monster, you hear me?! You’re worse than dead, I’ll make you fucking pay! I’ll take every single thing you love away from you! LOKI! I’LL RUIN YOUR LIFE!” 

Heimdall and Vidarr grabbed Skadi and hauled her away. She struggled bitterly, heels digging into the mud. “LOKI! I’LL SEE EVERYONE YOU LOVE LYING DEAD IN A DITCH!! _LOKI_!”

He turned and watched Skadi go. The party was disbanding, ruined. He watched Odin and Frigg pack up their chairs, saw Sif by the generators, making a call to Thor. If Thor was on the way, it was time to go. 

His eyes fixed on Sigyn as Baldr walked up the hill towards her. Baldr said something, shouldered the rifle, then walked Sigyn back to her trailer, his arm around her shoulders. Loki’s body burned. His face was on fire. He felt himself rushing towards the camp again, but Thor’s car was pulling into the lot. Loki seethed. He watched Baldr lead Sigyn away, then crept off into the brush like a hungry jackal, the cogs in his mind darkly whirring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Chapter four will be up next Thursday.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time to get to work. Gylfi and Frodi follow a lead to the Æsir's place of business, which is not quite what you'd expect...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking around! I've got lots more chapters written up, but got so busy being back in school (for the first time in years) that I forgot to keep posting! Apologies.

**###**

** May 1st, 3:02 pm. Idavöll County Sheriff’s Department. **

** One Day Since Kidnapping. **

Frodi rubbed his sore neck with an even sorer hand. His face seemed to be permanently stuck in a pained grimace. He rifled through a stack of paper to his right, removed an eight by eleven sheaf, looked it over, then slammed it down with a loud curse.

The security video they had had so much hope for proved to be unhelpful; it showed a blurry figure of small to average build hurrying out of the mother’s trailer, carrying the oldest boy in his arms. Meaning the infant must have been passed to an accomplice through the window, the point of entry, before the suspect exited through the door. Meaning Frodi’s no-Jötun theory wasn’t entirely right, or entirely wrong. A smaller figure left through the door, but a larger figure could easily have been at the window, waiting. And the five seconds of blurry black-and-white video offered nothing else- the suspect had worn black clothes and a ski mask. Two suspects now, maybe more.

Frodi played the the video again, rewound it, and played it a second time. Leaning back in his squeaky desk chair, he pressed the heels of his hands against his tired eyes with a soft groan.

The jingle of spurs caught his attention and a voice said “have an excellent day” as the spurs jangled past his desk. Frodi opened his eyes and leaned forward to watch a tall man with shoulder length grey hair and a black velvet coat sweep out the door, adjusting the droopy blue Stetson on his head.

Frodi sat silently. When Gylfi rounded the corner, Frodi almost went off. But the older of the two deputies had sweat on his brow, his sleeves rolled up, and a fresh coffee stain on his brown uniform tie. He looked like hell.  
“I take it we have nothing,” Frodi said quietly.

“Nothing!” yelled Gylfi, slamming his hand down on the desk. He lowered himself into his chair like a man in his eighties. 

“That eye-patch wearing freak had me dancing in circles! Hours wasted on him! Hell, half the day! By now those kids could be-!”

He hung his head in one large hand. Neither deputy spoke for a moment.

“It seemed like the right course of action,” Frodi finally said. “We got the same thing from everyone at the Jötnar camp. Vafthrudnir swore to me on paper he knew Odin beat his own kids when they were young, and resented Loki enough for all the shit he’d caused to want to take it out of his ass. And that Hyndla woman you spoke to, she said-“

“We know what they all said, we spent hours fucking listening to them say it! A whole afternoon, and a whole evening. But Odin…. I just don’t like him for it. And I don’t think many of those Jötnar folks were even half honest with us yesterday.” Said Gylfi.

“Well, I don’t think this Odin fellow is the honest type, either,” said Frodi.

“No,” Gylfi nodded, his eyes pink around the edges like a basset hound’s. “No, but I don’t like him for this. Not as much as I should. There’s too much on him, and he’s far too clever.” He pawed through the stacks of testimonies and statements on his crowded desk.

“So we’re starting over?” said Frodi, sounding broken.

“Maybe not,” said Gylfi, taking hold of a small Polaroid at the top of a thick photo envelope. He scanned it quickly.

“Frodi, get the car.”

**###**

They arrived at the Æsir encampment at 3:25 in the afternoon. The earth was so dry the dirt rolled like talcum powder beneath the wheels of their sedan. Frodi balanced a toothpick between two dry lips. Gylfi slammed the Crown Vic’s door shut and looked up through his aviators at the ring of flagpoles in front of him. The flags they were flying were small; tattered triangles of faded fabric with long, tapered points. Frayed around the edges, and almost pink in color, Gylfi imagined they had once been a nice shade of red to match the bright scarlet lettering on the ticket booths they flanked. The flags, the shining ticket booths, the big show banner hung over the entrance- the grounds seemed haunted without a bustling crowd nearby. It had looked so vibrant when Gylfi had attended with his wife and kid just four nights before, but now the paint looked dull, the letters chipped. It was…

“Depressing,” said Frodi to his right.

Gylfi nodded and spat his gum out on the ground.

They walked past the ticket booths and through the open turnstiles, the crunch of dry straw underfoot and the click of the turning arms the only sounds that could be heard. The makeshift metal walls of the opening aisle sported round yellow bulbs that weren’t lit and posters about five feet tall on both sides of the aisle. The posters displayed colorful costumes in art nouveau illustrations of the show’s star performers- “the high-flying twins!”, “Tyr, the animal master!”, “Odin the Mesmerous! Test your wits against the king of illusions!”

Frodi stopped next to a poster boasting a woman in a long, glittering cloak emblazoned with stars, seated at a small table with a floating blue orb in front of her. It was Frigg, whom they’d questioned earlier. The poster portrayed a woman at least ten year’s Frigg’s junior, but it was definitely her likeness. The caption— in swirly, smoky letters—read “Frigg the Foreseer.”

“They ripped that shit off of Mickey Mouse in ‘Fantasia’,” Frodi said, tapping the starry cloak with his thumb. “’The Sorcerer’s Apprentice’.”

“They ripped off Alphonse Mucha is what they did, “said Gylfi. 

Another poster caught his eye, two down from Frigg’s. It showed a woman standing on the back of an unbridled and unsaddled horse, a long dressage whip in one hand, her hair billowing behind her as four horses followed in a smart line. “Sigyn, the rough rider!” the poster said. Gylfi looked at Sigyn’s dull, painted eyes. She looked soulless.

“Gylfi,” Frodi tipped his head towards one of the final posters of the lot and walked to the end of the entry aisle and towards the big top itself. “God I wish someone was frying up corndogs right now,” he said as he slipped inside the tent.

Gylfi noted the poster as he followed Frodi. A man with a twisted mouth was sitting cross-legged, his hands and feet bound in big iron chains with comically large padlocks. His limbs were entwined with snakes and a wolf loomed over him with its jaws open, right behind his head. “Loki the snake charmer! King of all escape artists!” Gylfi reached into his chest pocket and pulled out another piece of gum to chew. He gave the poster one last look. Escape artist indeed.

The further they ventured onto the circus grounds, the more people began to emerge from the woodwork. Faces they recognized from their suspect-wall back at the department headquarters, and faces they didn’t. One of the familiar faces approached, flanked by a radiantly beautiful woman and a handsome man with hair the color of dental floss. Frodi flashed a smile at the woman. She did not smile back.

“Mr. Njord,” said Gylfi, “is that correct?”

“It is,” said the man, “And I’m afraid you gentleman won’t be questioning any of our people again, not without our attorney and a warrant enabling you to stay here on our premises.”

“It’s the town’s premises, you’re renting space on public land,” said Frodi, pulling a folded manila envelope from his back pocket, “but if you want to talk warrants, I have some pretty ones right here in this pouch saying I can search every trailer on this lot.”

“We came to speak to you, Mr. Njord.” said Gylfi. Njord was quiet for a moment.

“We won’t interfere with your warrants. But our employer would prefer,” he said, “that no one give statements until he is there to hear them.”

“Do you always do what Daddy Odin says?” quipped Frodi. Gylfi held up a hand to shut him up. Njord smiled.

“No,” he said, “Not always.” He cocked his head to the right, motioning for the men to follow him. The man and woman with him hesitated. 

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, “When he asks, just tell him I was… coerced, will you Freyja?” 

The woman nodded and walked away, the tow-headed man following her quietly.

It appeared to the deputies that Njord was leading them back out towards the entrance to the circus grounds, but he made a sharp right turn behind the small “museum” hut, unlocking the door of a silver airstream with an orange awning stretching over its doorway. “Come on in,” he said.

But Gylfi was staring at the entrance to the circus’s small museum. A large photo was superimposed on the wall outside the red doorway, a photo of eleven children of various ages. They were arrayed in a shady green field between two large bur oaks, some children sitting cross-legged in the front while others stood in the back, like a junior soccer team photo. Below the photo, a caption read: “The circus is family.” A wiry looking preteen stood at one end of the kids’ formation, while a broody kid of about fourteen stood at the other end and looked out over the flock. One little boy was picking his nose very matter-of-factly, a little tow-headed girl in the middle was crying, and a child in the front, who couldn’t have been more than two, seemed to be grabbing at a large bug in the grass in front of him. Next to the two year old was a little boy with dark hair and a shy smile, gently holding a baby in a giraffe-covered onesie. Gylfi looked at their faces, both smiling. On the sunny day in this photograph, they were happy and smiling, waiting for the camera to flash. And on this day? The first of May? They were nowhere to be found. 

Gylfi looked at their little pixilated eyes. He felt cold. Behind him, Frodi said nothing. Gylfi turned on his heel and stepped in to Njord’s trailer without a second look at the picture.

Njord was a big man with skin like a bright copper penny and hair as fine as black silk. His knees creaked as he sat on the end of his small hide-a-bed and gestured to two plastic chairs the deputies could utilize. 

“Tea?” he asked.

“No, thanks,” sad Gylfi, twirling his hat and setting it on his knee, the gold-tipped ties dangling over the brim. Frodi thought they all made quite the little scene— three men of sturdy builds crammed into a tiny vintage trailer, seated on small pieces of furniture with their knees up higher than their belts. He smiled. Gylfi sat forward in his squeaky plastic chair.

“So, Mr. Njord-.”

“Njord is fine.”

“Njord. You shoo all your colleagues away, but you invite us in here for a chat. What’s all that about? Don’t you trust your friends and family to be honest with two humble little arms of the law here?”

Njord laughed and Gylfi smiled wryly. “You asked to speak to me. But there’s not a person in this camp who I’d consider a fool, if that’s what you’re implying, deputy. Our good country allows for and encourages the right to have an attorney present at any interrogation or interview-.”

“Does this look like an interrogation? You just offered me tea.” Gylfi interrupted gently.

The corners or Njord’s eyes folded in when he smiled. “An interview, then. Our boy Tyr went to law school, and he’s a very comforting presence to have. Me, I figure I’m old enough to govern my own tongue and have a grown up conversation. I’m a big boy.”

“And you had your own troupe,” said Frodi, looking up. The walls were rimmed with photos just below the start of the domed ceiling. Faded Polaroids and black and white prints, all in neat black frames. Frodi was eyeing one featuring a young man, squinting at the camera from beneath the water of a pool with glass walls. There was a large fabric banner hanging above the pool, reading “THE VANIR TRAVELING CIRCUS”.

“That’s you, isn’t it?” said Frodi, gesturing to the young man underwater. Njord nodded.

“So what, then: the Æsir came and squashed your circus, then absorbed all your talent into their own show?”

Njord’s electric kettle made a popping sound. As he got up to pour himself a cup, squeezing between the deputies’ chairs, Gylfi put a hand on the stun gun in his holster, ready if Njord should bolt. But Njord prepared his tea at the counter and made no move to leave.

“That’s not at all what happened,” he said, reaching into his cabinet and removing a tin full of black tea. “The Æsir and the Vanir were at war for a year. And not for the same reasons as the animosity between the Æsir and the Jötnar. You see, the Jötuns had a different season schedule at that time, and different stops. It was us, the Vanir, who had the same season route as the Æsir. An accident. One that, as you can imagine, was hard for business on both sides.”

Njord walked back to his bed, stirring his tea with a small wooden spoon. The liquid was a dark red, like Virginia earth, and it filled the trailer with the smell of orange zest and clover honey.  
“Sounds an awful lot like what’s going on now. Y’all are here at the same time as the Jötnar.” Said Gylfi.

Njord took a sip of tea and set his cup and saucer down on a frayed red coaster. “It’s true. Of the last five stops on our tour, we’ve shared three of them with the Jötnar. It’s all a big accident, to be sure. We started our season early this year, and the Jötnar added a bunch more stops to their tour. It’s not like two rival circuses tell each other the details of their tour plans. Though, after this mediocre season, maybe we should.”

Njord took another sip of his tea. “But no, it’s different now than it was before. The Æsir and the Jötnar will look for any excuse to fight. And in those days— when was it, 1972?—the idea of a Jötnar-Æsir merger had come up earlier in the year, but it all ended pretty badly.”

“Skrymnir’s gossip regarding Frigg?” asked Gylfi. Njord looked up at him with sharp, smiling black eyes.

“Ah, so you’ve got the backdrop all set then. The Jötuns started their tour that year on the opposite side of the country, while the Vanir and the Æsir lucked into unfortunately close tour stops. It had been a bad time for both our troupes, really, besides losing the money through competing ticket sales. We had one ring each; smaller acts, smaller numbers, smaller everything. We were, both groups, dwindling away into nothing. Neither troupe was going to last long, and that meant a lot of frustration. We fought all season. Little sabotages to trucking equipment, full on bar brawls. A mess.

“I had only been ringleader of the Vanir for a little over three years, and I saw an opportunity with the Æsir: double our numbers, minimize the competition. But for the Æsir, the idea of a merger was tainted by association to the Jötuns, by proxy. We had two more tour stops before it was time to pack it in for the Winter, and I went and visited Odin by myself, unarmed. We were both pretty young then. It was snowing. When Odin came out to wail on me, I could see Bor standing in the doorway of Odin’s trailer. Odin throws a good punch. I let him lay me out with three of them, and when he came to offer me a hand up, I said “this is stupid.” He agreed. We united our troupes and we all trained together for five months before hitting the road as a three-ring circus for the first time, the new Æsir Traveling Circus.”

“Shoulda kept the other name,” said Frodi, “’Vanir’ sounds much better.”

Njord smiled. “I agree. But Odin and I arm-wrestled for it, and I lost.”

“Lost your leadership, too,” said Gylfi, “does that burn you a little bit? You came up with this great merger idea, led both your troupes to success as one entity, but you don’t get to be head honcho.”

Njord shrugged. “I never liked being a leader. Truth be told, I got three ulcers doing it; one, I assume, for every year I headed the Vanir. It’s much better this way. Or at least it is when we don’t share tour dates with the Jötnar.”

“It isn’t always like this,” Njord said, lifting his cup from its saucer, “usually it’s a vague and distant grudge, in the seasons where we don’t see much of the Jötnar. But competing for ticket sales and both coming up short? Tensions are very high. High enough for something… drastic. Like this.”

“So kidnapping’s a normal consequence of your ticket-and-grudge squabbles?” asked Frodi.

Njord grew a little pale. “No,” he said quietly. “This all… it’s quite a shock. An appalling shock.”

He reached into the back pocket of his grey-green linen pants and pulled out his wallet. From it he removed a small, yellowed picture of two gangly looking boys, both very tan, standing by a rusty seesaw in brown and gold sweaters.

“That’s me, and that’s Skrymnir. We used to play together as kids, in the off-season. His mother had a house near our family farm.”

As Gylfi took the photo from him, Njord said “I know folks will be saying Skrymnir had a hand in this, but I don’t buy it. We don’t talk anymore, really, but I know his character, and something like this… it’s beneath him. I can’t speak for the entire Jötun camp, though.”

“Funny you should pull out a photo,” said Gylfi, “as I’ve got one of my own to show you.”

He pulled the Polaroid he had found at the station out of his chest pocket and handed it to Njord. The black haired man scanned it with his dark eyes, and his brow furrowed. 

“That’s you wife, isn’t it?” said Gylfi, tapping the back of the photo with his pinky. It was a picture of Njord with the twins the deputies had met earlier, Freyr and Freyja, standing outside a much larger trailer than the little Airstream. In the window, just behind the family, two figures were standing by the trailer sink, looking at one another. A tan man with dark hair and a woman with hair like white goose-down.

“Why is your wife cozying up to Loki there, making big eyes at him? Hmm? Seems like that might sting a little bit. The two of you are separated now, so I hear tell; your kids are grown, now your wife’s left you. She was the last good thing you had, right? And he ruined it.”

Njord laughed. It was a bitter, hollow chuckle, and he scratched his head with a forlorn look on his lined face.

“You boys will do anything to get a lead, I know. I would do the same in your shoes. But I’m afraid that’s all old news, the story you’re peddling. This picture? It’s from maybe a year ago. And Skadi and I didn’t split because of Loki- we were already separated when this was taken. I remember. I remember because I caught him leaving her trailer a week later. He was so proud with his belt buckle hanging loose, that miserable smarmy grin on his pointy face. And I just laughed and said ‘you’re too late, Loki.’ And walked right on my merry way.”

“Too late?” said Frodi. Njord nodded.

“My wife is not the first woman Loki has… cajoled. He doesn’t do it for the reasons you’d think of. Most people, we… have affairs because we want excitement, danger: a new thrill. Loki just wants to break things. He wants to rend lives. It’s payback. He thinks we’ve wronged him somehow. So he tries his best to wrong us.”

Njord drained his teacup. “So, as my wife and I had already gone our separate ways, Loki was too late to ruin anything. He’s ruined his own family by running out on his wife, but he wouldn’t kidnap his own children. That I know. Perhaps this whole horrible thing, it’s just… random.”

“And why Loki’s boys, then?” asked Gylfi, aggravated. “Out of all the kids here? Outside, in the picture on that wall? If it’s just some random crime by some random member of the Jötnar roster, then why these boys?”

There was a small thud outside. The men whipped around to face the tiny window, and caught a glimpse of Freyr outside. He looked a little sheepish.

“Son. A little trust, maybe?” Njord called after Freyr, but he was already hurrying away with a mutter of “I was just passing by.”

“Your son seems worried you might spill your guts about all the Æsir’s secrets,” said Frodi.

“Freyr puts loyalty to our group before anything else. But there’s nothing to spill, really. Nothing you don’t already know, deputies.”

“Nothing?!” said Gylfi, growing angry, “we don’t know anything! Our list of suspects is larger than your goddamn big top tent! And all you people are worried about is protecting your own skins! From what?!? There are children missing out there! A little boy and a baby! And I need to find them, and I need to find them alive! Or is that something none of you care about with your tea time and your casual chit-chat?!”

Njord’s face had become quite purple. Gylfi let his eyes focus on the floor and sat back in his chair, running a hand through his sweaty hair. Frodi took the wheel.

“Njord,” he said gently, “I know it’s easier to hope this is some kind of custody thing, or some kind of misplaced rivalry thing. That the boys were taken by someone they know is the most likely scenario. But that doesn’t mean they’re safe, Njord. And if they don’t know who took ‘em? If they’re strangers? Children kidnapped by violent people, violent people that they don’t know… 74% of those children are dead three hours after they’ve been kidnapped.”

Frodi clasped his hands and leaned forward, an earnest look on his face. “Help us, Njord. Who would want to take those boys?”

“I don’t know,” said Njord, his voice quiet. “Their daddy has a lot of enemies, and nary a friend. He’s sort of friendly with the Jötnar, or he is sometimes, at least. He’d take the boys down some nights when their mother was away and he was on kid duty— he’d take ‘em to gambling nights at the Jötnar camp. Give the baby off to one of the Jötun girls to watch.”

“How often?” asked Gylfi, calm now. 

Njord gave a slight shrug. “Not that often. And not recently. His wife caught him and read him the riot act for taking the boys out to a place like that at night, with drink and strangers. I heard Freyja, my daughter, say that she saw Sigyn roll his drunk hide down the back stairs. He had passed out in the middle of their fight.”

“Maybe one of the women at the Jötun camp took a shine to the kids after watching ‘em? Wanted to give ‘em a better life?” offered Frodi.

“Or maybe one of Loki’s gambling buddies took ‘em after Loki didn’t pay his debts,” said Gylfi.

Njord shook his head. “Loki was squared with the Jötnar, in terms of his debts. He scrounged up three quarters of what he owed Skrymnir, and Skrymnir beat the hell out of him as payment for the rest. That was a couple months ago. Even Loki had the sense not to go back and get in the hole again. And he’s too broke for someone to take the boys for blackmail. Circus folk, we don’t make much.”

“And you don’t think he could’ve taken his own kids? No one’s seen him in days, right?” said Frodi.

“No, you have to understand. Loki lives our nomadic little life because it gives him freedom. He likes being on the road, he likes being out in the world. It suits him to have a wife and kids to go home to when he wants, but it doesn’t suit him to take roots there. If he took his boys, he’d have to take care of them all by himself. Loki is one messed up son of a bitch, but he isn’t stupid. His boys have a good life, and he wouldn’t take them away from it, let alone make himself their only guardian.”

“And the mother? She wouldn’t do this just to show him what it feels like to wake up and find your kids missing in the middle of the night?” asked Frodi.

Njord’s eyes softened and he shook his head vigorously. “Sigyn? Oh, no. Sigyn is a good woman, and she loves her boys more than anything in this whole world. And this kind of stunt— if it is a stunt— isn’t in her playbook. She has every right to try and make Loki suffer, but she doesn’t have it in her. Too good. If she’d taken her own children, she wouldn’t be sitting in her trailer now, crying her eyes out with worry. She’d be gone with ‘em. Far away from their father.”

“Does he beat her?” asked Gylfi solemnly, “Has she ever felt threatened by him?” 

Njord was quiet for a while. “Loki… Loki is a great many things, but I’ve never seen him hit his wife. Nor heard of it after. A circus, as I’m sure you can imagine, is a tight-knit gigantic gossip hub. Sigyn’s never had a mark on her, other than bruises from her act. I don’t think Loki has it in him to hit her. And I think she'd hit back, leastways.”

“Do you know anything about Sigyn’s life before she came to the Æsir?” asked Gylfi.

“We don’t have any angry ex boy-friends on file,” said Frodi, by way of an explanation.

“No, I don’t know about her boyfriends.” Said Njord. “She didn’t have one when she came to us, or when she was at Álfheim with my son. Married to her work, you know.”

Njord was quiet for a moment. “She’s too good for all of this. She doesn’t deserve it.”

\----

“Whoo! I can’t tell if it’s hotter in there or out here!”

Sigyn opened the door of the big green semi cab and found that, like Freyr, she couldn’t tell which environment was hotter. She grabbed her leather suitcase and slowly climbed down to the ground. Freyr was standing by the tire, fanning the hot engine with a rag. 

“Well, she made it!” he said, tucking the rag into the pocket of his overalls. “And so did you!”

Sigyn looked around the expanse of the place. A big farmhouse, flanked by pastures. A cluster of small buildings just beyond that, what looked like a machinery barn, and green hills of soybeans at the far edge of her sight.  
There were people coming towards them from the house, and Freyr waved to them. Two men, both tall, in grubby work clothes. One had his long black hair pulled back in a leather strap, the other wore a big droopy blue Stetson and a thick black eyepatch. 

“Sigyn,” said Freyr, “this is my father, Njord,” Sigyn shook his hand, “And this is Odin, who owns this little slice of heaven.” 

Sigyn took Odin’s hand, dry like a desert riverbed, and shook it. “Thank you for having me sir, I really appreciate the offer.”

Odin was a quietly foreboding man. He said nothing, but gave Sigyn a small smile.

“My son speaks very highly of you, says you really held your own at Álfheim.” Said Njord. 

Sigyn smiled. “Well, he’s been very good to me, sir.”

Njord furrowed his brow. “Well that can’t be Freyr, then.” They laughed.

“Good that you’ve already worked with Freyr,” said Odin at last, “now we don’t have to warn you that he’s such a slut.”

Freyr glared from behind the truck’s hood. “The pot’s calling the kettle black, Old Man!” 

Odin turned to face another man coming up the walk. “This is Tyr. He’s our resident veterinarian.”

“And Lawyer,” yelled Freyr as he grabbed his gloves from the cab. Sigyn raised an eyebrow. Tyr, a redheaded man, reached out to shake her hand. 

“Tyr, get my new nags off that rig,” said Odin, walking away towards the house. “Sigyn, you come to dinner at the house tonight. Frigg, my wife, she’ll want to make you a cake.”

Sigyn didn’t have time to thank him again, he was already marching away. Njord gave her a smile and walked over to the next truck pulling into the lot: a turquoise cab to match the first, with a blonde woman in the driver’s seat.

“Freyja, your truck smells like shit!” Freyr yelled as he locked up his cab.

The woman leaned out of her window and flipped him off. Tyr rolled his eyes. “We should try and make a good impression on our new coworker, don’t you think?” he said to Freyr. 

Freyr responded by throwing the keys at him. “Make sure you close up the hatch when you’re done with her, alright? I gotta go see if Freyja’s ruined our silk ropes or not. I don’t trust her.”

As Freyr loped off towards his sister’s eighteen-wheeler, Tyr held up the keys. “Shall we see how your horses are doing?”

Tyr grabbed the bundled-up shipping boots next to him in one hand and led Odin’s new pair off to the stables, and Sigyn watched him go. A talented animal man indeed if he could lead two strange horses with one hand after they’d spent ten hours in a tin can together. Sigyn walked up the ramp and into the trailer.

“Hey, everybody,” she said quietly. She was greeted by the anxious whinnies of five horses. She chattered to them quietly, apologizing for the long ride, checking the gelding in the first barrier’s cannon bone, where he’d had some swelling earlier in the morning.

When she and Tyr had walked the horses to their paddock, she had him take a look at the horse’s leg once his shipping boot was removed. 

“Looks a little plump, but we’ll keep an eye on it. We’ll keep him inside the shelter, there’s a divider gate in there, he can have his own stall. He’ll be jealous of the others getting turn-out, of course.” 

“Of course,” said Sigyn, patting the big sorrel horse on the neck. 

“I’m sorry we gotta quarantine ‘em like this, but it’s for the best. Just in case, you know. Ten days and then they’ll be in the stable with the rest of the bunch.” 

Sigyn nodded. “I completely agree.”

Tyr smiled. “Come on, I’ll show you around. Thjálfi will bring them their dinner in a moment, and he has all the notes on their feed.”

Tyr took Sigyn up a small mound of gravel stacked near her horses’ little shelter. From there she could better see the farm and all its rolling hills of green crops.

“You can go riding down that tractor road there, that’s the best route. There’s the arena, and the indoor arena, isn’t it nice? Just put it up last year. And that building way off at the edge of that first field is kind of our all-purpose rehearsal ring. Freyr will have claimed it for him and Freyja by now, to set up their new silks. Spoiled brats.”

Sigyn laughed. “That’s the house,” said Tyr, “Extra rooms in that old barn, but women stay in the house, y’all have the best digs. Uh, water pumps here, Gefion’s barn over there- a bunch of oxen. I think we have some goats in there, too. Way to the left over here,” he said, turning, “are the kennels and sanctuaries. I keep my mountain lions at a rescue sanctuary down the road, but we have our wolves here. My bear, Grimur, Loki’s snakes, Odin’s birds. Hear any weird noises, it’s from over there. Then we’ve got the machinery barn, our storage Quonset hut—you can put anything you like in there—, the hen house, greenhouses, and that’s about the gist of it.”

Sigyn sat with her horses for a while after that, Grani and Glád happily eating hay beside her head whilst Grit and Hrimfaxi stood out in the sun. Gyllir pouted in his special sick-bay stall and refused to let her brush him.

When the horses became too absorbed in their dinner to pay her any mind, Sigyn took a walk around the property. She walked through a row of soybeans and took a drink from one of the field pumps. She wandered down an orchard row and looked for fallen fruit to eat. As she continued down the shady row, she heard the shriek of birds, and saw the top of the aviary looming over the crabapple trees. As she approached it, the trees gave way to a small arena with an electric fence, nearly 25 feet high and arched forward, forming a half-dome around the ring. She could hear a voice from inside the arena, but the fence was too dense to see through from afar. She stood at the top of a small hill, several feet away, to get a better view. There were a few rusty bleachers arrayed on the outside of the arena, and on the inside a man was talking to a very, very large animal. The man was fairly tall, and lanky, a t-shirt dangling from the waistband of his sweatpants. He held a small clicker in one hand, and nothing in the other, and when the large mass of fur in front of him moved, Sigyn saw that it was a wolf. A massive grey wolf. A wolf that had to be almost ten hands tall. 

The man wiped a sweaty palm on his even sweatier chest and whistled at the wolf, who seemed very interested in the ground by his paws. The wolf looked up, bright yellow eyes trained on the man, who was holding the clicker aloft. After a moment, the man shouted “loop-de-loop!” and snapped with the clicker. The wolf took off and ran a figure eight around two barrels, then jumped atop a platform and off again to loop around two more barrels on the other side. He began to slow down.

“Fenrir,” said the man in the tone of an admonishing mother at a little league game.

The wolf looked at him pointedly, and continued to slow his pace, practically trotting around the final barrel.

“Don’t gimme that! Come on, you sassy bastard!” The trainer gave a sharp whistle and snapped his arm down from the top of his head to his side. The wolf bolted up onto the platform and through a big wire hoop. The man clicked the clicker, and the enormous animal stopped by the first barrel and sat down. 

“So good, such a good boy!” the trainer was cheering. “Go get a snack!” The wolf took off down the length of the arena through a doggy door that looked way too small, but he miraculously shot right through. Sigyn could see him devouring what looked like pigskin out of a yellow feed bucket. He ate quickly, then darted back out into the arena.

The man with the clicker noticed Sigyn on the hill then, and waved dramatically.

“Hi!”

“Hi,” she said, waving back. The wolf had stopped several feet behind the man and was watching her with its intense yellow eyes. 

“Come on,” said the man, turning towards the wolf. “What’re you doing? You gonna stare at the pretty lady all day or are you going to show off for her? Huh?”

The wolf looked at his trainer calmly, who said “up!”, and the wolf stood on its powerful back legs and braced its enormous paws against the man’s shoulders, nearly pushing him down. The wolf was taller than his trainer. By a lot. Sigyn blinked incredulously. 

“Who’s my good boy?” said the man, slowly bending his knees. “Now… over.” And the wolf jumped straight over him, like the height was nothing. Sigyn was suddenly very glad that her animals had blunt teeth.  
As she turned to walk back towards the house, the man began putting the wolf through its routine one more time. He waved to her again. 

“See you at dinner!” he said.

“Ok!” said Sigyn, not knowing what else to say.

She did see him at dinner. He showed up fifteen minutes late, rolling on the t-shirt he’d had in his waistband and piling mashed potatoes into a mountain on his plate as he seated himself next to Thor, who complained that he reeked like a dog and needed to shower before coming into the house. They called him Loki. Odin threw a roll at him. He shrugged, grinned, and popped the roll into his mouth whole, while Frigg snapped her napkin at him and said “barbarian”. The conversation then turned to business, and a discussion of new tour locales and act additions. Frigg introduced Sigyn to the group, and Sigyn’s smile and small wave were met with stomping feet from around the table, an excited hoot from Thor, and raucous applause from Loki. His lips were odd, scarred. She liked his smile. The Æsir made a toast in her honor. Sigyn remained fairly quiet through the rest of the meal, and whenever she looked up from her plate, Loki’s eyes would meet her gaze.


End file.
